


cold comfort

by bulletthestars



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletthestars/pseuds/bulletthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico comes to Mark’s room to offer his congratulations. (Post qualifying, Japanese GP '13)</p>
            </blockquote>





	cold comfort

It's a couple of minutes after midnight and you open the door to your hotel room, coming face to face with Nico Rosberg, who looks like he has had far too much to drink.

Or rather, he _looks_ drunk, there's a smile on his face that's charming and flirty and delirious at the same time and his cheeks are flushed, or at least, it seems that way in the light of the corridor. You aren't too sure. Maybe he has had a drink or two. Or maybe it had been something else. You know about what Nico has with Jenson, and Jenson makes no attempt to deny it. Maybe he's here after a particular intense, err, session with Jenson. Jenson pinning Nico's wrists down against the wall as he fucks him from behind. Or Nico clutching at Jenson's shoulders as he rides him, breathless.

'What are you doing here?' you ask. You sound defensive and you hadn't meant for it to sound that way, but what's done is done. You need to stop thinking about things, especially things to do with Nico. And Jenson, for that matter. Any more wondering and you'd need a very cold shower before you'd be able to fall asleep.

'I came to congratulate you,' Nico says, looking amused. Your eyes narrow and he laughs, leaning against the door frame. 'Not going to invite me in? How rude.'

'There's a race tomorrow,' you find yourself saying. Better to err on the side of caution, although you have a faint idea of what is to come should you invite him in, no pun intended.

'I could leave,' Nico says, cocking his head to one side and your gaze drawn to his bare neck. His shirt is unbuttoned as usual, two, no, three buttons undone, a habit he had gotten from Jenson. You think of slipping your fingers past his shirt, to feel his skin under your fingertips.

'No,' you say, and he grins.

Perhaps he had meant for this to happen all along, ever since qualifying had ended. You remember the way he had stood around, inspecting his car right beside yours. The way he had bent over, arse sticking out, as if he had been offering himself to you. Lingering for a while, before finally walking away. Well, you had your chance, all those years back. He had been young, but not quite young enough to feel guilty, you suppose. But you had tried so hard to restrain yourself. If there had to be someone to corrupt the new boy in the paddock, you hadn't wanted it to be you. Looking back, you suppose you could've had him then if you had tried, what with how eager he had been to prove himself, but you had let him slip through your fingers instead. So you had watched him grow over the years, from rookie to pole sitter and race winner. With each year he had grown further and further away from you, far out of your grasp. But now he's kneeling in between your legs and you're sitting on the edge of your bed, most of your clothing thrown aside.

'Does Jenson know?' you ask. His hands are on your inner thighs and he's about to suck your cock, but you can't help yourself.

'Maybe,' Nico says, with that expression on his face that you've seen over and over again when he talks to the media. Like he knows something, but he's acting like he doesn't, but he's giving you no reason to doubt him. That look that he has perfected over the years. He licks his lips and looks up at you. 'Maybe he's sitting in his room now, jerking off as he thinks of me blowing you.'

'Fuck,' you groan and his lips curl upwards in a smirk before he leans forward to press his lips to the tip of your cock.

Nico's good at this, you think. How many times has he done this with Jenson, or anyone else, for that matter? You want to thrust into the wet warmth of his mouth but he holds your hip down, as if telling you that you're not in charge, but he is. This is his way of congratulating you for qualifying on pole, and you both know that this may well be the last in your Formula One career. His mouth is sinful and he doesn't stop you when you fist your hands in his hair, trying to push his head down so you can fuck his mouth. You wonder how it'd be like to fuck him proper, to have him underneath you, moaning, begging for more. What sort of noises would he make? Low moans? High pitched whines? Or would he bite on his lower lip, trying resolutely not to make any sound? But you'd never know, because he hadn't offered you anything more than just a blowjob. You take whatever you can get though, because you know the opportunity will never, quite literally, present itself ever again.

You look down at Nico and fuck, the sight is obscene but at the same time, you suppose that he's beautiful like this. In between your thighs, blonde hair a mess, lips red and you're almost fucking his mouth, having him choke around your cock. You had wanted this back then, when you had been teammates with him, but you had been obsessed with being good, with not being the one to ruin the blonde angel in the paddock. It's different now. Sometimes you think of how it might've turned out if you had been the one to take him. But that had just been lust, and the desire to taint something pure, nothing more. Or had it?

You're close now, you're yanking hard at Nico's hair and he looks up at you, holding your gaze with his lips wrapped around the tip of your cock, one hand on your hip, the other hand pumping your cock, getting you off. When you come, it gets all over his face and his lips and he looks at you, eyes unblinking. He drags his tongue over his lips, tasting you and you're pretty sure that it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

'Do you-' you ask as he's getting up.

'It's okay,' he answers with a smile, cutting you off before you can even finish your sentence, tongue flicking across his upper lip. 'This was about you,' he continues, with a knowing sort of look in his eyes that throws you off guard.


End file.
